


A Statistical Error in a Dog-Friendly Neighborhood; Or: All Dogs Go To The Good Place

by secretsofluftnarp (luftie)



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV), The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Good Place (TV) Fusion, M/M, Schurniverse, Soulmates, fun times, in which Ray Holt has the hots for the Shawn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-03-29 14:12:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13928748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luftie/pseuds/secretsofluftnarp
Summary: Raymond Holt is a Good Place Architect. Upon discovering an error in his records linked to the Bad Place, he goes undercover in order to try and resolve the issue. The Bad Place management is oddly familiar, but, more importantly, very handsome.featuring angel!Charles, demon!Gina, and other fun times.





	1. The Evidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raymond finds a problem.

Raymond Holt liked his office.

It was perpetually clean, and well-lit. It was constructed out of shades of tan, his favorite color; the lush, eternally unmarked carpet matched his soft yet well-constructed knit sweaters. His drafting tools were orderly, his heavy paper free from smudge, arranged on a wooden desk which smelled faintly of sandalwood, his favorite. It was set back slightly from the other Architect offices, but not so far that he ever felt isolated or out of place. The office was a little bit far from the coffee station, but he could always ask the local Janet for a mug (it wasn't coffee, exactly, more a consumable representation of the feeling of satisfaction) or a plain scone, well into the night. 

He chose to experience night. It gave his experiences added focus, and depth. 

Raymond was the Architect of Neighborhood 48399-B, an up-and-coming Good Place neighborhood for humans and dogs. Good Place Architects had long observed the human preferences to be with the animal companions they had in life, but some had not accounted for the joy of discovery of new animal companions (and said animal companions' excitement over the discovery of new humans). Hence, Neighborhood 48399-B had rolling admissions, which was a bit of a bear as far as record-keeping was concerned, but so far that had been easily managed. The self-cleaning dog park central to his Neighborhood had won accolades. The disembodied voice of the woman-in-charge  _ herself _ told him he had made many people happy, and though he had never met any of them, he enjoyed that knowledge. 

Good Place dwellers took many forms, and sometimes no form at all; there was more than one cheerful disembodied soul in Raymond's periphery, zipping about like the universe's most helpful poltergeist. Some explored, taking the form of a tropical bird and moving into Neighborhood 32184-A, a painstakingly recreated rainforest, or became a beam of sunlight in a world of prisms; others chose human form simply to experience sitting on eternity's Comfiest Couch, and then gave it up again. Raymond enjoyed his physical form; he liked to feel solid, and felt his smile inspired trust in others.  

Some chose a spin on the classic 'angelic' form, as Charles, who was now standing in Raymond's doorway, had. Charles, from the planning and records department, wore ruffled shirts, pastel suits, and occasionally carried a white dance cane. (Charles could tap dance, but that was not rare among people who lived, as they called it, Upstairs.) He had small white feathered wings which tended to get stuck in doorways, shedding feathers here and there. His wing-nubs moved up and down as he talked, as expressive as his slightly protruding eyes. Raymond thought at times he looked less like an angel, and more like a baby bird.

Like now. Charles' wings were drooping. Apprehensive, almost. Raymond felt concern, largely out of empathy for Charles' apparent distress.

"Is something the matter? Please, sit down. Would you like a plain scone?"

"No, thanks, I just had the best bisque for lunch. Man, I still can't believe my Chowder Fountain idea was rejected." 

Ah, yes. Charles wasn't an Architect, but he had pitched several ideas for gastronomy-focused neighborhoods. Some of these ideas were lovely, and had been picked up by Architects, who were lovingly creating inventive new designs as they spoke. Some were less compelling, and had been politely rejected. The Chowder Fountain idea had been placed in an envelope and, via express mail, banished into the Void.

Charles did not enjoy plain scones. Raymond tried not to take it personally.

"I overheard something Upstairs that I think you ought to know about," Charles said. Charles was privy to planning and sustainability meetings, which, in some ways, directed the activities of Architects. Raymond thought the Good Place management structure -- an efficient web of both creative and practical undertaking, including at times a literal hierarchy of angels -- was a concept to behold, and he found it beautiful. 

"Charles?" Raymond said, gently questioning. "Are you jumping the chain of command?" 

"Sorry, I know how much you love orderly structure -- that house you built in Neighborhood 48398-A was to  _ die _ for -- ha ha, word choice!" Charles straightened his powder-blue jacket. "It's just that, if there were something that concerned you directly, I thought you would want to know."

Raymond leaned back in his eternally comfortable chair. "Want to know what?"

Charles spread his white-gloved hands. "There's a glitch."

Raymond's mouth fell open. "We haven't had a glitch in years. Which neighborhoods are affected?" 

"Yours, Peter's, and Sonja's."

"Well," Raymond said, with a hint of judgment in his voice, "Sonja's neighborhood did have that grease fire. Are their safety protocols intact?"

"Hey now," Charles said, a touch defensive. "Burger Heaven more than lives up to its name."

"Supposing this glitch did originate in my neighborhood," Raymond asked, still skeptical, "how would I find it?" 

Charles used a white-gloved hand to retrieve two ethereal touchscreen from nowhere, and manipulated them so Raymond could see. On the left screen were some numbers, and on the right screen were some numbers that didn't quite match. 

"So if you just compare all the files -- you might have to do it by hand, to see if anything's wonky -- you would probably be able to tell where the glitch originated, if it's within your neighborhood," Charles explained. 

Raymond smiled, kindly. "Thank you, Charles. I do enjoy repetitive technical tasks."

Charles blinked, flustered, and then remembered who he was talking to. "Oh, right, you actually do. Sometimes I forget that you're incapable of sarcasm." He smiled uncomfortably, and then remembered he was being helpful. "Anyway, if the glitch is in your neighborhood and you find it, you might be able to fix it before Upstairs gets word, and… you know. Everybody's happy, and nobody gets in trouble." 

"Thank you, Charles. I do enjoy that option." 

"You're a great guy, Ray."

"It's Raymond, but you're welcome." 

 

Raymond, taking great enjoyment in examining the orderliness of his numbers and observing the underlying code which made them tick, worked into the perceived-nighttime. He even had the local Janet bring him a candle which literally burned at both ends, for both ambience and pun value. 

Then he found it. It wasn't what he expected to find, not in the least. He nearly told Janet to call Charles, but Charles would likely be off in Shrimp Heaven or Burger Heaven or, Upstairs forbid, Doughnut Heaven (Raymond had never been to any of these places), and he didn't want to rouse suspicion, and would wait until their work hours aligned again.

"Janet," Raymond said, "are you aware of the concept of confidentiality?"

"I am aware of all concepts, including that one," Janet cheerfully replied. 

"I am going to ask you a question, and I would like you not to tell anyone else. Can you do that?"

"Your preference has been saved in my infinite reference file."

Raymond considered that good enough. He pointed at the floating screen in front of him. "Does this look like a… Downstairs problem to you?"


	2. Undercover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raymond visits the Bad Place.

"You're going to the Bad Place?" Charles' wings shuddered, lifting him several inches off the ground. "Raymond, the whole idea was to not get in trouble, and that is a surefire way to get in trouble! And if anybody asks me where you are, I can't lie!"

"I do not think anyone will inquire to you concerning my whereabouts. We do not even work in the same department; you are merely a charming and helpful friend."

Charles' face softened into a charmed smile. He was highly susceptible to compliments, and Raymond knew this about him. 

"I believe an error of this caliber isn't worth alerting any of the… authorities, and yet deserves to be fixed," Raymond explained. 

"Oh boy. It was your mistake! And you don't want to get caught!"

Raymond, who was also incapable of lying, gave a subtle nod. "You make very astute observations." 

Charles blushed again at the compliment.

 

Raymond had Janet fetch him a gray pinstriped suit and a fedora to blend in with the Downstairs-dwellers. He then wrote Janet a message, and had her read it aloud. "Please use a loud and accusatory tone," he specified.

"Go to hell!" Janet shouted, repeating his message exactly, and he was at the train station.

Technically, Janet had called him a train. Technically, he had not asked Janet to do it for him. Raymond stepped onto the foreboding locomotive, carrying a briefcase containing paper evidence of the glitch, a crossword puzzle, and a pencil. He had accessed some old files, ideas of what the labyrinthine hallways of his destination might look like, and made his best attempt to commit them to memory. Naturally, they had none of the brightness and efficiency of his more familiar hallways.

He was also wearing a wire connected to his Good Place Janet. Because he was neither a fool, nor a person with a death wish. 

"When you exit the train, turn away from the Museum of Human Misery toward the Endless Tunnel. If you smell lava monsters, you have gone too far," cheerfully narrated Janet, who had infinite knowledge. 

"What does a lava monster smell like," Raymond whispered into his lapel, but he had his answer soon enough.

"Say hi to Pete! He likes when others acknowledge him," Janet said. 

"Good afternoon, Peter," Raymond said. 

"It's Pete, dumbass," said the lava monster, and stomped off down the hall.

"Two more rights will bring you to the Great Hall, which includes the Architecture department," Janet narrated. "Avoid stopping on the area in the middle, which is an express walkway to highly frequented Bad Place departments, including The River of Undying Screams, Disembowelment, and Pancakes."

"Pancakes?" Raymond said quizzically, but he did not stop. 

"You have arrived at your destination," Janet announced. Raymond paused for a moment, appreciating the high ceilings, the gunmetal gray of his surroundings, the beams of light visible via thick dust in the air, the harsh regularity of the Architect desk arrangement. This was hell, but there was a certain… elegance to it. 

Raymond knocked twice on a closed office door. A red-haired man in a suit poked his head out, eyebrow quirked, immediately regarding him as suspicious.

"I would like to speak to the management," Raymond said, politely.

"I am the management," Shawn said flatly. "Do I...know you?"

For a moment, Raymond was nearly certain they had met before, at a time when that judgemental eyebrow raise could have been… charming. But it couldn't have been. Raymond had never been… down here.

"I do know you," Shawn said, more definitively now. "You worked in the murder pits. What did we call that? Death by Bureaucracy? Homicide Squad?"

"The latter," Raymond bluffed. Raymond realized he could lie, down here in the Bad Place, when he hadn't been able to previously. He ought to keep an eye on that, he thought, lest it become a problematic habit.

Shawn waved him inside. 

"I need access to the files from Neighborhood 48399-C," Raymond said, handing Shawn a file folder. "If you look at the analysis you will notice a so-called 'blip.' Almost as if there is someone in that neighborhood who… does not belong there."

Shawn flipped through the file. "These are Good Place numbers. How did you get them?"

"I...hacked...the...internet," Raymond said carefully, uncertain. 

"Because this is a naughty bit of espionage," Shawn chuckled, half-listening. "And I am  _ into _ that." 

"Ugh, get a room!" a voice shouted from a shadowy corner of Shawn's office.

A Bad Janet -- smokey eye makeup, dyed-blonde hair, tight black ensemble -- was leaning on Shawn's desk, looking at her phone. She was not helping with what looked like a series of administrative tasks on Shawn's desk. As Raymond noted the sound of Bad Janet loudly chewing bubble gum and tapping on her phone, he noticed another sound that was not Bad Janet. The clicking toenails of an animal, perhaps. Something breathing. Something else was here. 

"Well, I can get the Department of Redundancy Department to look into it," Shawn said. "We'll have to fax the rest."

"Fax?" Raymond said.

"Yes, we do the majority of our business via fax. This is  _ hell _ . Do try to keep up."  Shawn flipped through the folder contents one more time. "Oh, and this looks like an error."

"That isn't an error," Raymond said, following Shawn's finger on the page. Raymond had put too much effort into getting here to be challenged over something as simple and clear as his math. "Do I have to teach you college-level statistics?"

Shawn was taken aback. "Do I have to teach you high school statistics?"

"Do I have to teach you --"

"God, get a room!" an exasperated woman's voice groaned from the door.

Oh right, you have an appointment," Bad Janet informed Shawn. "She's here." 

The woman posed with one arm on the doorframe, like she was ready for her photoshoot. She wore a top with the words ' TOLD YOU SO ' emblazoned in rhinestones across the front.

Shawn sighed. "Hello, Linetti." 

Gina Linetti gave Raymond the same squinting look Shawn had. "Do I know you?"

Raymond tipped his hat in faux-recognition. "Homicide Squad."

"Funny," Gina said, staring somewhere far-off. "I could have sworn we called it 'Death by Bureaucracy.'" 

Shawn seemed suspicious again. Which, Raymond thought, was probably bad.

"So you know how we had that dust-up in Parts and Decapitation," Gina began, addressing Shawn. "That whole thing where missing limbs were inexplicably going missing, blah blah blah..."

"I do," Shawn said. "Do you have the file on it?"

"Yeah, yeah," Gina said, handing Shawn a folder without looking. "But I had this bangin' idea of how to fix it."

"Bangin'," Bad Janet echoed, cracking her gum. 

"Wolves," Gina said, with a sweep of her hands, as though envisioning a skyline. 

"That's the concept?" Shawn said, a hint of disgust on his face. "You want them to be torn apart by wolves? Similar to how we already have departments for being torn apart by hyenas, dingos, piranhas, raccoons, mall stampedes, regular sharks, 'sharks with frickin' laser beams on their heads,' and face-eating weasels." 

"No, like, it'll still be Parts and Decapitation, just with more --" Gina swept her hand across the invisible skyline again. "Wolves!" 

Shawn ignored this and kept going through the file. "This is surprisingly thorough work you've done here, Linetti. Keep this up and you’ll be assistant manager at the sunglasses kiosk in the mall in no time."

"Thanks. If you could not tell anyone how stunningly brilliant I am, you know. I have appearances to keep up." 

Gina winked, but Shawn didn't notice. Bad Janet noticed, and winked back, grinning.

"Lookin' good, Bad Jan," Gina said, beckoning her closer. 

Janet wrapped an arm and a leg around Gina. "Get out of here, you sexy bitch," she hissed.

Gina drew her lips close to Bad Janet's cheek, breath warm on her skin. Her mouth grazed Bad Janet's ear, and she brought up her hand to whisper into it. Bad Janet listened, nodding along, and then looking in Raymond's direction, which Raymond thought was odd. Gina blew a kiss to Bad Janet at close range, winked again, and sailed out of the room.

Bad Janet walked over and stood behind Raymond. Leaning over his shoulder, she pinched his lapel between two fingers. Then she stuck her tongue halfway out, and loudly blew a raspberry.

Raymond stood stoically still, but did not appreciate the spittle. 

Bad Janet then opened her mouth all the way, initiating walkie-talkie mode.

On the other end of the mic, Good Place Janet used a finger to clean out her ear as though she had been wet-willied. "Message received," she said, in her typical chipper Good Place Janet voice.

Bad Janet dropped the mic. "He's wearing a wire," she said, flatly. "It's connected to the Good Place."

"Dammit, Janet," Raymond over-enunciated.

Shawn rounded on him, dramatically, as though he enjoyed that sort of thing. "Who are you?"

Raymond removed his hat, and raised the palm of one hand. He did not like to go in for gaudy special effects, but these were unusual circumstances. He flipped on a light switch in his mind, which made the crown of his head and the palm of his hand glow faintly in the darkened office. It was a cool, white light, internally generated from the manipulation of his physical form. He anticipated that Shawn would not be moved by such things, since Shawn was a demon; it merely served as proof of his own angelic identity.

"I work Upstairs, relatively speaking, in an Architectural capacity," Raymond explained. "I was only seeking a solution to a problem in my neighborhood."

"Tell me why I shouldn't have you flattened," Shawn snapped. "You'd make a very handsome pancake."

Raymond couldn't help but be amused at his wording. "You consider me handsome?"

Bad Janet looked at the ceiling. "Ugh, get a room!" 

"You should not have me flattened or otherwise misshapen, because I clearly belong in the Good Place, and news of my absence would be interpreted as a kidnapping," Raymond explained calmly. "Being prosecuted for interdimensional crimes would deny you access to the role you clearly seem to enjoy. And if my kidnapping and subsequent flattening were to be interpreted as an act of political aggression, it could lead to genuine interdimensional conflict. I'm sure the Bad Place has plenty of experienced warmongers who would quickly rise among the ranks, surely threatening the job security of a..." Raymond paused here, choosing his words carefully, "...glorified Architecture clerk, such as yourself." 

Shawn drew his lips together, clearly offended. And yet, interested. And yet, suspicious. "How could you come from the Good Place and attempt deception? That seems antithetical." 

"Perhaps the good of quietly resolving the issue would outweigh the inconvenience of dropping by unannounced."

"You do understand who you're dealing with," Shawn said. He was being threatening, and clearly enjoying it.

"I am not afraid of you," Raymond said, believing himself incorruptible.

The corner of Shawn's mouth twitched into a smile. He took that as a challenge.

Raymond was aware of the animal breathing sound he had detected earlier. Something made Shawn's chair squeak, and the panting sound came closer.

A corgi had climbed onto Shawn's desk.

Raymond cocked his head in disbelief. It was a beautiful animal, with a pristine, fluffy coat of orange and white, with prominent black fur on his back. The dog had plump little legs, perky ears, and a lolling doggy smile, who looked utterly relaxed in these surroundings.

"You have a dog," Raymond observed.  

Shawn sighed at the interruption. "Yes. This is my hellhound, Pepper." 

"Pepper doesn't look like a hellhound," Raymond said. He put a hand toward Pepper, who continued to seem relaxed. "I know a great number of dogs in the Good Place; in fact, I was led to believe  _ all _ dogs go to the Good Place."

"That has been rumored," Shawn ceded. "But never proven."

"I wonder if this handsome canine could be the source of the glitch," Raymond said. "Perhaps this dog has been… misplaced." Raymond bent to the dog's eye level. " _ Are _ you a good boy?"

Shawn drew himself up taller, and put his face very close to Raymond's face. "How  _ dare _ you suggest such a thing." 

With his other hand, Raymond found himself pocketing a small dog toy from Shawn's desk. Evidence, he told himself. It would clearly be useful later, in proving that the dog was the source of the glitch.

"Well," Raymond announced, "I have a train to catch." 

"Bad Janet, get me a trilby," Shawn said. Bad Janet whipped a hat at him, frisbee style, without looking up. Shawn, clearly used to it, caught it without comment. "You and I are both going to escort our visitor to make sure he properly gets on the train, and does not attempt to  _ steal my dog _ in the process."

"I am not attempting to steal your dog," Raymond protested. His words were lost in whatever force field Bad Janet had created to propel them out of Shawn's office.   
  


The train was always late. Shawn knew the train was always late, so Raymond surmised that Shawn should have been able to correctly estimate the actual time the train would arrive; however, he was told, time didn't work that way in the Bad Place. Sometimes time ceased working entirely, and had to be re-started with a pair of chronological jumper cables, which were never in the place they were last seen.

So the three of them waited on the train platform, and waited some more.

"Can I tempt you?" Shawn said, offering Raymond his cigarette case, with one cigarette slid out, just so.

Raymond eyed it, skeptical. "Nicotine or antimatter?"

"Greed, actually." 

"No thank you. I am attempting to quit." Raymond realized that was a fib, but he had meant it as a joke, of sorts. He reasoned that meant it shouldn't count.

Shawn nearly smiled again. He was entirely unused to smiling so often. He peered up at the speaker playing an inane pop song on repeat, snapped his fingers, and the tune changed.

"Showoff," Bad Janet said, without looking up from her phone.

"Executive perk," Shawn corrected.

"This is Mahler," Raymond said, recognizing the music. "My favorite composer. Mahler  _ was _ one in-your-face bad boy. You're a fan?"

"It can be highly unnerving under the right circumstances," Shawn said, savoring what he was about to say next. "This is his final, and unfinished symphony."

"Oh," Raymond said, the sound of a man whose metaphorical feathers had been properly ruffled. "Oh, that is positively maddening."

"It just grinds painfully to a halt at the end," Shawn expounded. "One of my favorite pieces." He glanced at Raymond, considering him. "You weren't a music critic, were you? Your odds of ending up in the Good Place would have been terrible." 

Raymond shrugged. "I must have been alive, once, but I have no recollection beyond that. It was my personality which was preserved, so I know I was someone who enjoyed working with small details on meaningful projects. I imagine I could have been an engineer, or an academic."

"Huh," said Shawn, experiencing a sense of familiarity he couldn't explain.

The train squealed into the station just as the symphony ground to a halt. Raymond, despite himself, appreciated the thematic synchronicity. He tipped his hat to Shawn as the train pulled away, which seemed both an unusual and perfectly normal thing to do.

As the train pulled away, Bad Janet started to laugh. Then she didn't stop laughing. She threw back her head and cackled.

"What?" Shawn said, annoyed. "Did somebody have one too many reboots?"

"Huh? No. Linetti told me to do that. She also told me to do this." Bad Janet played her tongue across her top lip, and spoke in her version of a sexy whisper. "You know, you could get it if you wanted." 

Shawn knit his brows together. "What?"

"Chase that Angel D." 

"A seduction," Shawn says, chuckling as he watched the departing train pull out of sight. "How old-school demonic. Perhaps I shall."   



	3. The Suspect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shawn visits the Good Place.

Something was off about Charles.

"Hey, Ray, did I drop my keys in here last time I was in here? Mind if I just take a look around your office?"

It was his face, Raymond thought. There was a lack of expression which was almost uncanny. Was Charles depressed? 

"Charles, is everything all right with -- I apologize, I've forgotten your soul mate's name." 

Charles stopped in his tracks. "Soul mates are real?"

"Of course they are," Raymond said. There was no way in the cosmos that the person in front of him was actually Charles. He stood up, and faced the Charles-appearing person eye-to-eye.

"Aren't you a little tall to be Charles?" Raymond asked.

"You got me," Shawn said, and unzipped his Charles suit. He straightened his unblemished gray suit and stepped out of his disguise, leaving it on the ground like a deflated balloon.

"Janet," Raymond said, eyeing the empty Charles-esque husk, "is real Charles all right?"

"Real Charles is currently in Hot Dog Heaven. He calls it 'da bomb diggity.'" 

"Thank you, Janet." So Charles was fine. And Shawn was here. 

Tall, imposing, handsome Shawn was here. 

Raymond quickly made a plan.

"I am here to retrieve Mister Squeakers," Shawn said. "I believe you know to what I am referring."

Raymond squinted. "Do I?"

"A rubber squirrel, about yea big, squeaks when squeezed. It belongs to Pepper, who is positively morose without it."

"Ah," Raymond said. "If I happened to pick up something… by accident while I was visiting, it would be with the suit I wore down there, which is in my home."

"One could surmise," Shawn said, "that you were attempting to lure my dog up with you." 

"I am still not attempting to steal your dog," Raymond said. "But if your dog happens to find their way up here, as dogs have a tendency to do, I will not stand in their way. I do suspect that your dog could find their way up here legitimately."

"I suspect you're full of it," Shawn said.

"Here," Raymond said, pulling up a touchscreen. "These are the point totals of humans and dogs who reside in my most recent neighborhood. The dogs had to score well enough in the point system to get in, but they invariably did."

"These are all perfect scores," Shawn said, skeptical. 

"They're good dogs, Shawn," Raymond deadpanned. 

"Do the dogs have soul mates?" Shawn half-joked.

"Not to my knowledge, but you would have to ask them," Raymond said, entirely sincere. "The system doesn't track that type of thing for animals. For humans, soul mates are optional, calculated based on what would bring an individual the most happiness. A quirk of the system is that the same conditions rarely work for everyone -- it's why we have so many Good Place neighborhoods, and free visitation between them."

"One man's trash is another man's treasure," Shawn said.

"Exactly."

"One man's pleasure is another man's pain," Shawn said, in a way that sounded dangerous, and a little bit sexual.

Raymond closed the touchscreen. "Let us find your doggie toy."

 

Shawn watched Raymond open a door from nowhere, because travel was easy in the Good Place. The door opened into a sea of landscaped ground, featuring a great deal of tan stone, and white stakes and wooden trellises where plants would soon grow.

"This is a prototype for my next neighborhood," Raymond explained. "The design crew is coming in later to fancy it up a bit, but I enjoy it most in its unadorned state, so I am staying here in the interim."

Shawn glanced around in a way that betrayed discomfort, his pale eyes and neck movements appearing almost snakelike. "It's a garden."

"It is that," Raymond agreed. "A garden that lives at a perfect, regular temperature, with infrequent atmospheric interruptions. There is a bench, and a picnic table, and a grandiose old oak tree; there is very nearly all there needs to be." 

There were some flowers; Raymond had set them into orderly rows. The unnaturalness of this arrangement appealed to Shawn.  

"Orchids," Raymond explained. "In alphabetical order by genus. Like so," he said, gesturing down the rows with a saw of his hand. "Beclardia, Beloglottis, Benthamia, Diphylax, Dipodium, Evotella, Eriaxis. I could go on." 

Shawn ran his thumb over the antique metal cigarette lighter in his pocket. At least, that is what it appeared to be; it was in fact full of something far more effective than Earth-made fuel, and could set this garden, dictionary-perfect rows of orchids and all, up in flames in a matter of seconds. But, Shawn told himself, it was too soon for that. It would interfere with his seduction, which he was doing for the sheer evil joy of bringing Raymond down with him, and for no other reason. 

Stepping behind a trellis, Shawn found a vine. He fondled the leaves, feeling again an odd sense of familiarity. Raymond was close behind him, curious. 

"I do appreciate a good rosebush," Shawn said, pulling aside a leaf to reveal a two-inch thorn. "Stabby." 

"I didn't plan on that being here," Raymond said, mildly confused.

Shawn angled his head back, to catch Raymond's eye. "But you are intrigued."

"Careful," Raymond said, slowly taking Shawn's hand to protect it, his fingertips stopping briefly at Shawn's wrist. 

Shawn played with Raymond's fingers in his and leaned back, slow, pressing his body backward into Raymond's arms. 

"Do-gooder," Shawn teased. "Trying to save me from a pinprick." 

Raymond pressed a surprisingly firm hand to Shawn's chest. "Perhaps I am saving  _ it _ from  _ you _ ," Raymond murmured into Shawn's neck. "I can't have you up here corrupting my garden."

"Perhaps it would enjoy a little corruption," Shawn murmured back. 

Raymond stroked Shawn's fingers with his thumb. "Perhaps it would enjoy...a little kindness."

Shawn turned his head, slowly, to meet Raymond's lips. At first their lips brushed together, quick and soft, then met again, finding each other in a more certain kiss. Shawn let a small exhale of sound escape him before he pulled back, satisfied.

Of course Raymond wanted him, Shawn thought. Goodness was so fragile. 

Raymond's voice was strong, solid, and somehow unsurprised. "You should come inside."    
  


 

Raymond was living in a one-story, no-nonsense house, crisp white and beige on the outside. It was more of a cottage, really. Inside, it was little more than a bedroom and a breakfast nook. The bed looked very firm, and tightly made, with gray linens. The kitchen table was empty, and was accompanied by one plain wooden chair. The beige walls were bare, and the carpet was unremarkable.

"It's so...starkly minimalist," Shawn said. He was turned on already.

"Can I interest you in something to eat?" Raymond said, opening a bread-keeper in the breakfast nook and placing something on a plate. "We can share --"

"-- a plain scone," they said together. 

"It tastes of absolutely nothing," Shawn said, sampling it admiringly. "Are you sure this isn't the Bad Place?"

"You mean that as a compliment," Raymond said, in recognition. 

"I do," Shawn said. "Any number of people would find this abode torturously boring. I could have a great deal of fun with that."   

"One man's pleasure," Raymond said, voice low and suggestive.

"All right," Shawn said, annoyed at how long this was taking. He started loosening his tie to take it off. "How do you want to do this? Backwards? Sideways?"

Raymond ignored Shawn's questionable grasp of anatomy. "No, no, no," he said quietly, placing a finger to Shawn's lips. He pressed further, leading Shawn to step backward, until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He undid the knot in Shawn's tie and let it hang, putting his hands to the sides of Shawn's neck, then his jaw, drawing Shawn's face toward his. This time it was a full kiss, pressing him with lips and tongue and lips again.

Raymond drew a hand down Shawn's arm, and again put it to Shawn's wrist. "Before you did not appear to have a pulse," he observed. "Now not only do you appear to have one, I could have sworn I felt it quicken."

"I'm a demon," Shawn said, with a touch of defensiveness. "I'm very capable of lust." 

Raymond rubbed Shawn's shoulders, and then pulled him into an embrace. "I understand what you're doing, you know," Raymond said, into his ear. "How delicious you think it would be to have an angel fallen of their own accord." 

He cradled Shawn's head and kissed his bald spot, protectively. "But I think you can, in time, allow me to love you."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself," Shawn said, with a smirk. He tossed himself down on the bed. "Because  _ you _ are into  _ this _ ," he said, gesturing to the length of his body.

"I am," Raymond said, leaning over him. "I do not deny it." 

Raymond kissed Shawn's neck and then spoke, low, into his ear. "You insist the dog is bad," he said. "But I think it is you who are the naughty bitch."

"Oh dear," Shawn said, without meaning to. He closed a hand around Raymond's shirt collar. "Say that again."

Raymond obliged, and the sound that escaped Shawn got a little louder. 

"You should be in the Bad Place," Shawn said, voice low. "That voice would sound so good doling out absurd punishments in a deadpan monotone."

Raymond's mouth connected to Shawn's again, soft and sweet. "Not today, Satan," he laughed, and wrestled him under the covers. 

 

When Shawn came to it was morning, and all of his clothes were in a neatly folded pile on a shelf near the head of Raymond's bed. Shawn didn't typically sleep, and the sense of restfulness was novel to him. He wondered if everywhere in the Good Place was like this.

"You have day and night here," Shawn said, to a sleeping and similarly undressed Raymond. "How quaint."

Raymond stretched, eyes closed. Shawn had an urge to throw himself on top of Raymond, to be scooped up in his arms. Shawn told himself this was clearly demon-appropriate lust, and nothing more. 

Plus, his head was oddly clear. "I don't have a hangover," Shawn said, in disbelief. "Do you not have hangovers here? I lust after  _ and _ envy you."

"We do not," Raymond said, opening his eyes. "But you didn't drink."

"No, but the Bad Place hands them out willy-nilly." Shawn put a hand to Raymond's chest, and then drew it downward. Raymond made a low, appreciative noise. He turned on his side to face Shawn, kissing him again as Shawn drew his hands around the front and back of Raymond.

Shawn squinted as he felt Raymond's skin. "I didn't hurt you?"

Raymond clearly thought the question was cute. "No, but I appreciate the concern." 

"This isn't concern," Shawn said, defensively. "I want to make sure I remember correctly. For research purposes." 

"Then here is an interesting data point for you," Raymond said. "The safeties were on the entire time. The neighborhood itself would have spat you out had you attempted to harm me or it in any way. And yet you did not try."

Shawn raised both eyebrows.

"Elements of sexual roughness between consenting adults do not qualify as harm, Shawn. Often the opposite."

"Heh," Shawn said, watching Raymond's back as he stood up, walked to a small closet, and put on a bathrobe. No, a dressing gown. Raymond's aesthetic was very specific. Shawn appreciated this with what he told himself was very normal and expected demon-lust.

"Not attempting to directly physically harm you is a very low bar for goodness," Shawn said, sitting himself up in bed. He wanted one of his greed cigarettes, and couldn't remember where they were.

"Indeed," Raymond agreed. "I am saying that given your purported nature, it is...an interesting piece of data."

"Please," Shawn said, in a tone which meant  _ don't be ridiculous _ . "I seduced you."

Raymond sat back down on the bed next to Shawn. "Did you?" Raymond said, running his fingers along Shawn’s jawline. "Or did I lovingly coax you into a state of vulnerability where you could engage with me in an emotionally honest way?"

Shawn didn’t know if kissing Raymond at that moment would have been ceding his point, or disproving it. But he wanted to kiss Raymond, so he did, throwing his long arms around Raymond's neck, and attempting to pull him back to bed.

There was a knock at the cottage door.

"Ah, I neglected to remember," Raymond said. "My design crew is here."

As Raymond went toward the door, Shawn stole one of Raymond's dressing gowns out of his closet. It felt practical, and suggestive, and the act of stealing was pleasantly familiar.

"Ah, Terrence, good morning!" Shawn heard Raymond say at the door. "I admit I overslept -- would it make sense to get started without my input?"

"Sure thing!" Terry said, amiably. Terry Jeffords was wearing a comfortable sweater and an artist's beret, and carrying several giant paper sketchbooks. "It looks like you got a real nice foundation here, so I'll take a look around, think about some flowers on trees, some cute little acorns -- Terry's been real excited about acorns lately."

"Yeah!" Charles said, popping into view from behind Terry. "I came along too! I'm a butterfly consultant," he explained, beaming proudly.

"Charles," Raymond said, smiling. "I am glad to see you are well." 

Terry furrowed his massive wrinkle of a brow. Wasn't everyone here always well? This was the Good Place.

Shawn, wearing one of Raymond's dressing gowns, came up behind Raymond and hugged him around the waist, kissed him on the cheek, and put his head on Raymond's shoulder. 

"My apologies," Raymond said. "I...have a guest."

"Aww, no judgement. Terry loves love."

When Raymond shut the door, Terry and Charles looked at each other.

"Have you ever seen that guy before?" Charles said. "The one he was with?"

"No, but I'm just glad Holt is happy." 

Charles looked thoughtful, and worried. "Does that mean that before, he was less happy than he could have been? In the Good Place?"

"Man, this whole place is just one contradiction after another!" Terry said, swinging his muscled arms in frustration. "I'm gonna go draw some trees."

 

Inside, Raymond seemed entertained. "I have never been much for public displays of affection, and I didn't presume you were either," Raymond said. "Why do you think you did that?"

Shawn mentally ran through the possibilities. He hadn't succeeded in making anyone feel bad, or even embarrassed. He hadn't even interrupted the conversation.

"I...I don't know," Shawn said. He stared ahead, frozen for a moment, and then zipped himself into his pod of goo. 

Raymond put his hand on the chartreuse chrysalis, as if he were speaking to someone through a door. "It's going to be all right," he said. "You're experiencing what is called genuine affection."

The goo pod did not stir.

"Here," Raymond said, going to his dresser and retrieving the aforementioned dog toy. "I have Mister Squeakers." Raymond held it in front of the cocoon and squeezed it twice, so it went squeaky-squeaky. 

Shawn unwrapped the cocoon for a split second, grabbed the toy out of Raymond's hands, and zipped the cocoon back up again.

"All right, take your time," Raymond said. "But, when you get the chance, I would like my dressing gown back." 


	4. The Ruling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raymond and Shawn are called before the Judge.

A dark shape was headed toward Charles.

She was wearing tight black jeans, a tight black top, black ankle boots, and a leather jacket. A bright silver handmade chain belt was slung around her hips, with a gleaming silver badge attached to one side.

"Diaz!" Charles said, in gleeful recognition. He noticed the badge. "You made the Safety Squad! Congratulations!"

"Yeah," Rosa said, smiling without meaning to. "I still spend most of my time making bolt-cutter jewelry," she said, putting a thumb in her chain-link belt. "And most of the rest is showing people who've forgotten they have bodies how to open doors and stuff. So that's dope."

"How's the wife?"

"Awesome. Obviously."

"Obviously." Charles paused, carefully. "Hey Rosa, how come..." Charles paused again. "Your aesthetic. It's pretty unconventional." 

Rosa tossed back her head and gave a quick, short laugh. "Oh man, you're trying to ask me about my clothes but the Good Place won't let you be rude about it." 

"Yeah! Yeah. Do you think I could I pull off a leather jacket?"

Rosa shrugged. "Hey. You just do you, dude. I do my thing because I think it looks awesome."

Charles nodded along, because he was Charles.

"And if you want to be smiles and ruffles, that's fine. But man, you know what I love about the Good Place? Nobody has ever told me to smile more." Rosa smiled, inadvertently, just thinking about it.

"But hey," Rosa said, face serious again, "I am actually here on official Safety Squad business. Something is going down, and I'm pulling people for questioning. This almost never happens, but we have an actual safety concern on our hands."

"Oh no, what happened? Question away!"

"Have you seen this guy?" Rosa held up a page clearly ripped from a magazine, with Shawn's face on it, eyebrow unmistakably arched.  _ Up-and-Comers of the Down-Below-ers _ , the headline read, in thick red type.

"Oh," said Charles, clearly crestfallen. "Ohhh, no..."

 

In the Bad Place, Keith Pembroke wandered into Shawn's office. "What up, Dummy."

Keith Pembroke had earned the name 'the Vulture' for -- well, it didn't matter why, exactly. You can imagine something suitably grotesque.

"Hello, Keith," Shawn said. "How are things in Toxic Masculinity?"

"Sick as hell, dawg. Me and the guys got you something." He tossed a thick white envelope on Shawn's desk. 

Shawn poked at it with a letter opener, warily, then sliced it open. Inside, there was not, as anticipated, a terrible practical joke. It was, instead, a court summons.

"Peace out, idiot!" the Vulture crowed. "You've been served." 

 

Raymond, too, had been called before the judge, via an envelope which appeared to fall from nowhere straight onto his work desk. It included a thumbs-up pin which would allow for transportation to the judge's chambers, and a handwritten note from Judge Gen in her broad, loopy handwriting, suggesting that he knew what he did.

Raymond popped through one portal into Judge Gen's chambers at nearly the same time Shawn appeared out of the other one. Which also seemed impossible, and just about right. A second rumble in the portal followed Shawn, and Pepper popped through, following at Shawn's feet, squeaky toy in mouth.

"Oh my  _ me _ , I thought you would never get here!" Judge Gen said, delighted. Somewhere in the distance, a kitchen timer went  _ ding _ . "Gimme one sec," Judge Gen said, waving them to sit down in the seats in front of her desk. 

She returned with a large bag of microwave popcorn, popped it open, and offered it to Raymond and Shawn. "Suit yourself," she said when they refused, and started noisily eating it herself.

"Okay, for starters, let me say: this?" Judge Gen gestured back and forth between Shawn and Raymond, with an expression of overpowering glee. "This is freaking adorable. You know, I haven't seen anything like this for actual millenia. Last time this happened we had to re-do the whole hierarchy top to bottom. No pun intended. Ha!"    
  
Judge Gen slapped her hand on the table in delight, and waited for them to speak for themselves.

"Clearly Shawn belongs in the Good Place," Raymond said. "He shows potential for growth."

"Clearly Raymond belongs in the Bad Place," Shawn said, at the same time. "He's been breaking rules left and right. But he has demonstrated obvious managerial-level skills."

"No, no, no," Judge Gen said. "Raymond, Shawn might be into you, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't get his demon on around everyone else in the Good Place. And Raymond can't go to the Bad Place, if we put Good Place people in the Bad Place they try to fix the place up, and eventually reality collapses in on itself." Judge Gen paused to put a handful of popcorn into her face, and spoke between crunches. "Total no-go."

"What about the dog?" Raymond asked.

"Oh it is _ not about  _ the dog!" Shawn snapped, protectively scooping Pepper onto his lap.

"There was a glitch in the system," Raymond explained. "The most likely explanation would appear to be that a dog, who we all know belong in the Good Place, was misplaced."   
  
"Whoops!" said Judge Gen. "Nah, not about that, I dropped some popcorn down my robes, hang on."    
  
Raymond and Shawn waited while she fished around in her robes.

"Okay, the dog thing?" Judge Gen said, addressing them again. "I gotta give that one to this guy." She gestured broadly toward Shawn and his corgi companion. "The dog isn't the glitch. Pepper is a  _ bad dog _ ." 

She locked eyes with Pepper, who had dropped Mister Squeakers on Shawn's lap and was panting happily. "This little bastard was an enforcer for the Three Dog Mafia! Had a rap sheet the size of my elder scrolls!" Judge Gen leaned down, to look him closer in the eye. "You are one sick puppy, you know that?"

Pepper panted back, wordlessly content. He might have been a little bit smug.

Shawn picked up Pepper and kissed his fluffy, fluffy neck. “I told you he was a hellhound,” he said teasingly to Raymond, through Pepper's thick fur.

Pepper farted in Raymond’s general direction. It stank of sulfur. “There’s a good bad dog,” Shawn said, putting him back down on his lap. Pepper rolled over, to have his belly rubbed.

Raymond attempted not to look miffed.

"Do you know what the glitch is?" Raymond asked Judge Gen. 

Judge Gen popped a small printing calculator onto her desk. She pushed a few buttons, and it printed out a long paper receipt. As Judge Gen tore it off and read it, she curled her tongue inside her mouth. Playful. Snarky.

"Do you believe in soul mates?" she asked.

Shawn snorted dismissively.

"Of course," Raymond said. "I know of several people who have successfully...soul-mated."

"The glitch is you," Judge Gen said, beaming with excitement. "The system was looking for your other half."

"But I've never had..." Raymond started.

The judge smiled knowingly. "That you know of." She held the receipt out for Raymond to read. "But it's resolved now. See? No glitch." 

Shawn looked confused. "But what… happened."

The judge pointed from Raymond, to Shawn, and back again, smirking.

"Oh you have got to be  _ kidding _ me," Shawn sputtered. 

"Nope! See what happened is, Raymond died before ever meeting the guy he could have had decades of happiness with on Earth --"

Raymond was shocked by her flippant delivery. "How could you just casually burden me with that knowledge?" 

"Easy! And I'm not finished." She pointed back at Shawn. "And you are, for some reasons _ I _ don't even understand, the closest match!"

Shawn and Raymond stared back at Judge Gen, boggling. Underneath the initial shock there was a spark of wonder, a nice spread of embarrassment, and, deep down, the sense that the thing they were embarrassed about was something fun and true. Raymond was unused to such a rich mix of positive and negative emotions. Shawn was unused to experiencing such levels of emotion at all.

Gen spread her arms. "Be happy! Lucky for you two, this thing? Hot. And now you’re both immortal, so y’know, plenty of time to get jiggy with it."

Raymond, having died before this slang term appeared on earth, nevertheless accurately surmised what she meant.

"Here's the deal, though. You need to stay in your current gigs. The Good Place needs Raymond: he's so thoughtful and organized and really helps keep the place running. And it is not an easy place to run! And Shawn is, you know, primo managerial asshole material, the bread and butter of the Bad Place. They need him too."

Shawn preened a bit at the compliment.

"And if you mess around in each other's dimensions, the whole thing eventually goes kablooey, and we can't have that," Judge Gen continued. "We're not due for another one of those until..." She glanced at her bare wrist as if it were a watch. "Another couple thousand years, maybe? Man, I gotta remember to wind this thing."

"So I'm thinking like a shore leave situation," Judge Gen went on. "You two get to meet up in a neutral location every so often, do your thing, be adorable, and then get back to doing what you do best!"

"A neutral location," Shawn said. "You mean a Medium Place?"

"Oh, fuck no. Bo-ring! I was thinking Earth, actually. It allows for such a rich blend of transcendent and shitty. Plus maybe you miss the old place." 

Shawn frowned. "I'm not...from Earth." 

"Debatable. Again, the details are totally trippy." Judge Gen propped her head on her hand. "But you can see it, right? You guys vacationing somewhere that's not bad but not good, like a West Covina, or a Banff, or a Boring, Maryland --"

"I like Maryland," Shawn said, without knowing why.

"I do as well," Raymond said. "I believe it's quite average." 

"Right," Judge Gen continued. "But you can picture it, right? You get stuck in some traffic, go for a walk on the beach when it's way too cold and windy out, find yourself a little two-star bed and breakfast with dry toast and a hard mattress..."

"That sounds quite lovely, actually," Shawn and Raymond said together.

"You guys get it," Judge Gen said, with the tone of someone talking to a puppy. "So, the court will send a letter about when and how often. In the meantime, unauthorized visits are verboten. Forbidden. Super not allowed." She waggled a finger in Shawn and Raymond's faces. "Do not fuck up the fabric of reality just to get your bone on, y'hear?"

"I understand," Raymond said. "And I am mildly offended at your use of the word  _ bone _ ." 

"One has to admit," Shawn said, "now that you mention we could 'fuck up the fabric of reality,' you make it sound awfully tempting." 

The judge pointed a serious finger at him. "Don't," she said. "I will have you replaced. Like that."

She snapped her fingers, and Shawn temporarily blinked out of existence. 

She snapped her fingers again, and he blinked back.

"Oh I did not like that at  _ all, _ " Shawn said. "Message received."  

"For what it is worth," Raymond said, turning toward Shawn, "I did not enjoy it either." 

"Cute," the judge said. "Now git. You can both take the express elevator." 

As they left the chamber, they could hear Judge Gen talking to herself. "Three Dog...what does that remind me of? Wait, a song.  _ If I were the king of the world, tell you what I'd do... _ "

 

Standing in the elevator lobby, Raymond was subdued. He knew he ought to be happy -- the judge's decision hadn't gotten them into any real trouble, and the prospect of occasional forays into Earth-based vacations should have been enough to lift his spirits. But he couldn't help but wonder about what other possibilities he would have had on Earth, in a life he had no recollection of, only the knowledge that he had lost it.

"I cannot believe I am about to ask you this," Shawn said as they waited, "but do you need --"

Raymond wordlessly leaned into the hug Shawn was about to offer, and stayed there for several minutes. They stepped into the elevator together, Raymond's head resting on Shawn's shoulder, as Pepper followed at his feet.

"I know you aren't crying," Shawn said. It was a lie built out of kindness, which wasn't something he had previously known was possible.

"I know you aren't either," Raymond said. "Clearly, neither of us is crying." 

The elevator door dinged and opened. The first stop was the Bad Place. Pepper ran out, quickly, and returned as quickly as his little corgi legs would carry him. He held a severed human arm in his mouth like a stick, and dropped it at Shawn's feet.

"Does that belong to Parts and Decapitation?" Shawn said, flabbergasted. "You've been taking them to play fetch?" 

"I'm very disappointed in you," Raymond said, clearly speaking to the dog. Pepper's ears drooped.

Shawn turned to Raymond, half-joking. "I don't suppose I could interest you in a nice dinner and an evening of torture-observation?"

"No, thank you. I don't suppose I could interest you in the neighborhood puppy bowl this afternoon?"

Shawn thought about it. "Perhaps."

"You are not allowed to kick the puppies," Raymond clarified.

"Ah. Then no."

"Some other time," Raymond said. "We appear to have plenty of it." 

Raymond tried to keep the truth of that statement in mind as he pressed the next button, to go up.

 

When Raymond returned to his desk, his paperweight was missing. It was not just any paperweight; it held a miniature model of a standard Good Place neighborhood inside, and when activated, would project the model, hologram-like, to aid in drafting. Of course, Raymond could always re-do his math or use another tool or source, but he was quite fond of this compact, beautiful piece of technology.

"Charles, have you seen my paperweight?"

Charles shook his head.

"This is bizarre. I should know where it is. Part of this being The Good Place is that I know where everything is!" 

Raymond slapped his hands on the desk. Charles jumped.

"Charles, am I...unhappy?" Raymond said slowly.

"It does look that way," Charles said. Trying to be subtle, Charles reached for the small silver bell he typically carried in his jacket pocket, and rang it.

"You know I was called before the Judge recently," Raymond said. Charles nodded. "I believe...there may have been a sentence, of which I was unaware. I appear to have been saddled with the knowledge of...loss."

"Sounds bogus," Rosa's voice said from the doorway. Charles breathed a sigh of relief that the Safety Squad bells were so effective.

"Hello, Diaz," Raymond said, looking up. He found Rosa's voice comforting. 

Rosa put a hand on Raymond's back, in a reassuring half-hug. "We're here for you, dude. Safety Squad. Totally includes emotional safety."

"Diaz," Raymond said, thinking, "do you remember your Earth life?"

"A little," Rosa said. "More sometimes, but the details are all fuzzy and crap. I know I used to be pretty bad at talking about feelings, and then I got better at it, and that's how I did a lot of the stuff that got me into the Good Place. And that part of what I do here is help other people do the same thing."

"I'm confused," Raymond said. "We tend to think those of us in the Good Place have already become good, and here you are talking about growth and change." 

"Of course," Rosa said. "People can't stay the same forever. It makes no sense. And if we tried to make them stay the same forever, we'd turn into the Bad Place."

"Oh boy," Charles said. "Don't tell Terry."

"Terry can deal," Rosa said. "And if he flips out, call me."

"Thank you for being here, Diaz," Raymond said. 

"You too, bud," Rosa said, pulling him into a real hug.

"Hmm," Raymond said, having the vague sense that Rosa should definitely not have been calling him 'bud,' and should have in fact been calling him something specific, but could not remember what it was.

Rosa flipped open her notebook, which she only carried for stylistic reasons. "Do you want to make a statement about your missing stuff? Think you know who might have taken it?"

Inside, Raymond beamed. He only knew one person capable of stealing, and they had been in his office recently. He very much enjoyed the idea that Shawn was thinking of him, in Shawn's own clever, terrible way. There was no way that Raymond would want to submit a complaint which could get Shawn into interdimensional trouble.

"I don't have the foggiest idea," Raymond told Rosa. For the first time in his eternal life, it was a bold-faced lie. 

 

Shawn stood in front of Michael's desk. It took a moment for Michael to see him. Michael had only recently been promoted to Architect, and was entirely absorbed in his new project.

"I have something for you," Shawn announced. "Your novel proposal for a neighborhood has been approved. I have a number of things which may assist you in your design." Shawn handed Michael an envelope. "First of all, this was spat out of the Void this morning, and I thought you could use it."

"It just says 'chowder fountain,'" Michael said, reading the card inside. "Shawn, that's disgusting. I love it!"

"More importantly -- and do understand that this is to be kept under wraps -- is this." Shawn pulled Raymond's paperweight from a secret pocket within his suit. "This paperweight contains specifications for a typical Good Place neighborhood, which would aid you in designing a false Good Place neighborhood of your own."

Michael held the paperweight and marveled. "That's incredible. How did you get this?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Yoooooo!" Gina Linetti shouted from the desk next to Michael. It was not her desk. She had her feet on it. "You could take down the Good Place with that shit!"

_ No need to be greedy _ , Shawn almost said, and stopped himself. What kind of sentiment was that for a demon?

"Since you've been so supportive of my work," Michael said, testing the waters, "there is one more thing I could really use in my new neighborhood."

"Oh?" Shawn said.

"We need to steal a Good Place Janet." 

It was all Shawn could do not to break into a grin. "I believe that can be arranged."

Shawn gave a cursory nod and walked away from Michael. "Linetti, why aren't you in Parts and Decapitation?"   
  
"Hanging with my girl!" Gina and Bad Janet high-fived without looking up from their respective phones. 

Shawn looked from Bad Janet to Gina, and back again. "Are you two just...texting  _ each other _ all day?"

Bad Janet blew a bubble, and let the gum explode on her face. "Um, yeah. Not like we would take the universe's most advanced and sexiest Bad Janet off the Bad Janet text chain." Bad Janet picked the gum off her cheek and gestured toward Gina. "She told me to say that, but it's also true."

"You two," Shawn snapped, remembering he was at least in charge here. "Workstations.  _ Now _ .”

Gina and Bad Janet, arms around each other, got up and walked slouchily in the direction of where they were supposed to be. Shawn followed behind them. Perhaps he could take an afternoon in the River of Undying Screams and recharge a bit. Something felt off, like there was a spring in his step he was trying to control.

"LOL," said Bad Janet, to Gina, but looking back at Shawn. "He just wants to go back to the Good Place so he can get some Angel donk."

Shawn, following behind them, uncharacteristically told the truth. "Bad Janet, that is both rude and accurate."

 

The next piece of mail from Judge Gen was not a court letter regarding 'shore leave.' It was a heavy envelope which crashed, from some place above the ceiling, onto Shawn’s desk. Inside was a Columbia University yearbook from 1992. 

On the faculty page, there was picture of someone who looked exactly like Shawn, except with a bit more hair and a sportcoat more fitting of a Classics professor. When Shawn looked at it, he saw something impossible, captioned by a name that was both his and not at all his, at the same time. 

Inside, Gen has scrawled a note in her grand, loopy writing:  _ FIgured it out: it’s like your timelines had sex! Totally trippy, right? You look so good in tweed! Anyway, have fun in Banff! _

"I’m...from Earth?" Shawn muttered quietly, to himself. But no, that wasn’t it exactly. His Eternal side sensed what this was. There was one of him who had never been human, and one of him -- _was it him, though?_ \-- who had. But now he was both of them. A paradox. A chimera, of sorts.

Surely this wouldn't affect him in the long run, Shawn thought. A human-demon paradox chimera certainly still belonged in the Bad Place. Didn't he?

Besides, Shawn thought. The notion of him ending up in tweed anytime soon was highly unlikely.

Shawn realized Raymond would like it. 

Fine.  _ Somewhat _ unlikely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *roll imaginary credit sequence, which features Judge Gen belting the heck out of 'Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog' while using a burrito as a microphone*
> 
> credit to [this tumblr post](http://wikipedie.tumblr.com/post/169345224558/jakeperallta-some-revelations-from-mike-schurs) (and the AMA) for the whole idea
> 
> also credit to [this post](http://lucys-preston.tumblr.com/post/169902969247/new-schur-verse-theory) for the Bad Janet/Gina theory
> 
> thanks to [lalalalalawhy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalalalawhy/pseuds/lalalalalawhy) & [glorious_clio](http://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_clio/pseuds/glorious_clio) for beta-reading and to [startofamoment](http://archiveofourown.org/users/startofamoment/pseuds/startofamoment) for additional ideas & cheering-on
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!  
> [edit: it continues.]
> 
> nerd-husbands.tumblr.com


	5. The Accomplice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But if you're here, who's guarding Hades?"

Madeleine Wuntch had a hangover.    
  
Last week, from her small booth guarding the turnstiles at the Bad Place train station, she had shouted after a stranger. Even though she wore a uniform, attempts to get Bad Place dwellers to listen to her were generally hit-or-miss.   
  
"Hey hot stuff!" she yelled, after a well-built, African-American man in a pinstripe suit. "Where ya headed?"   
  
The man did not acknowledge her. She tried again.    
  
"Hey stranger! You got ID?" She leaned forward, flirty. "Or a minute to show me why I shouldn't bother?"   
  
Holt, whose name she did not know, did not pay Madeleine any heed. He continued walking, mumbling into his lapel.    
  
Madeleine was fed up. She had had her fill of being ignored. She picked up her walkie-talkie. "Security, I got an unauthorized entrance at station turnstile 18-41-B. Do you copy?"  
  
"Loud and clear," said a bored-sounding woman's voice on the other end.   
  
"Linetti?" Wuntch said, in disbelief. "This is a security line. You're not security."   


"Yeah, but I've seen what you guys do. It's not like it's hard."   
  
Madeleine sighed. "I got a guy who doesn't look like he belongs here. Pinstripe suit. Middle-aged. Very attractive. Headed toward Endless Screaming or Architecture."    
  
"Ummmm," Gina said, half-listening, scanning her environment. "Wait, think I got him. Carrying a briefcase, kind of a gay vibe?"   
  
"Oh, you have got to be  _ kidding _ me."    
  
"I think he's heading for Shawn's office," Gina continued. "Ok, yeah, he is. Since, y'know, I'm bored and I know everything, I'll go get your guy. Or at least mess with him a little." 

  
  
A short while later, Madeleine observed Shawn and the stranger on an outgoing train platform, keeping her distance. Shawn was clearly making sure the man was boarding an outbound train, but something didn't smell right. When she confronted Shawn, later, about aiding and abetting an unauthorized visitor, he was even more snippy than usual.   


"You mind your own damned business," Shawn snapped. Though he outranked her, Madeleine had clearly gotten under his skin. There was a power in that. She narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips together.    
  
"Technically," Madeleine said, in an attempt to have the last word, "all of our business is damned business."   
  
Now, a week later, Madeleine suspected her current hangover was some kind of retaliation from Shawn himself, though she couldn't prove it. Her eyes felt heavy and her head hurt. Resting her forehead on the counter of her transit booth didn't help, but she did it anyway.   
  
Which is why Madeleine Wuntch, in her grumbling apathy, did not even notice when a corgi in a hat skittered under the turnstile and boarded an outbound train.

  
  
Upstairs, Amy Santiago was giving a presentation.   
  
"...and that's my proposal as Chief Safety Planner!" she finished, beaming. Things had almost gone exactly as planned -- the powerpoint had synced up perfectly, and now the whole conference room was applauding. Charles flashed her a double thumbs-up.   
  
"Amy, that was amazing!" Charles said, coming up to congratulate her afterward. "Your new job seems so stressful, but you really pulled it off!"   
  
"Yeah, well, pressure is really where I thrive!" Amy laughed. "Plus Jake and Rosa only had to have like, two interventions for me this time. Which is progress!"   
  
"Jake works with Rosa?" Charles said.    
  
"Not exactly," Amy said. "Have you guys not met? Seriously? How? You totally should."   
  
"He sounds so cool," Charles muttered.   
  
"I mean, I wouldn't go that far," Amy said, with an affectionate grin. "But today's a really big day at work for him too."   
  
  


Back in Neighborhood 48399-B, Jake Peralta was wrangling puppies.    
  
"All right, listen up! This is the inaugural Puppy Bowl, and we need everybody on their best behavior," Jake announced. "That means you, Kelly Barkson. Also looking at you, Spaniel Craig. Don't think I didn't see that, Drooly Andrews. Give Angela Basset Hound some space. And of course -- " Jake gestured wildly, because he wasn't nervous at all. "The incomparable Barks McClane."    
  
Jake lowered himself down to look Barks McClane in the eyes. Barks was known as, one could say, a bit of a lone wolf. The dog's cold, wet nose was inches from his. Jake pointed a finger. "Do not blow this for us."   
  
Barks McClane licked Jake on the nose. 

"All right," Jake said, straightening up. "This is gonna be awesome. Because it's like football, but it's also adorable." 

Terry approached the puppy wrangling area. "You good? I'm so excited."   
  
"We are better than good, Terr-Bear. We are super excelle -- whoa where is Kelly Barkson going?"   
  
The little brown-and-white beagle was bolting out of the park.    
  
Jake started to run after her, and called back to Terry. "I'll go get her!" Jake said, already out of breath. "You focus on keeping the other players psyched! You're amazing at pep talks."

"Who's a good dog?" Jake heard Terry say behind him. "You are! All of you! You got this!" 

Jake followed the little dog until he saw her wiggle under some brush. Jake, being human sized, had to climb over it. As he was halfway over the hedge, Jake saw a flash a few feet in front of him.   
  
"What the heck?" he said, squinting. A corgi with a black spot on his back had arrived out of nowhere. Jake knew all the dogs in this neighborhood, and he had never seen this one before. He dismounted from the hedge.   
  
"Janet?" Jake said. "Do we have a new dog?"   
  
A Janet appeared next to Jake. "Hello," she said, and began running through protocol.    
  
"Actually, Janet," Jake said, "can you grab Kelly Barkson for me? Man, I should have thought of that. Would've saved me all this running."    
  
Janet smiled. She disappeared briefly, reappeared with the missing puppy, and placed it in Jake's arms. "Here is the dog you requested."   
  
"And this other dog?" Jake said, indicating the corgi.   
  
"That dog is not in my database," Janet said, smiling a little too hard, voice unreasonably chipper. If a Janet could seem unnerved, she did.   
  
"Do you know if he's friendly?" Jake said, confused. "I mean, he has to be, right?"   
  
Janet opened her mouth again. Before she could speak, the corgi launched himself at her. The two of them disappeared in a burst of light.   
  
Jake's eyes bulged. "Tell me you saw that," he whispered, but the only someone close enough to hear him was the puppy he was cuddling to his chest.  
  
Jake looked around for any available person. He had run almost to the other side of the neighborhood, but he was near a familiar door.    
  
"Holt!" Jake yelped, at the door that led to Holt's office. Holt didn't live here, but he had a door installed, because he liked efficiency of travel. Jake figured he was sort of like the mayor of the neighborhood, even though that technically wasn't true at all. "Did you see that suspicious activity?" Jake said, panting.   
  
Holt emerged from the door, as even-keeled as ever. "Peralta, are you all right? You're babbling."    
  
"I mean, I do that anyway, but -- no! I just saw a Janet disappear! But not in the regular way. There was a new dog, and she said it wasn't one of our dogs..."   
  
"Are you certain?" Holt said, too calm. "We get newcomers all the time. You can check the lists."   
  
"Actually I can't, but that's so not the point."   
  
"You don't have administrator access?" Holt said. It was as if he was taking the conversation on a deliberate tangent, which was the least Holt-like thing Jake could think of.    
  
"No, I don't," Jake said. "I'm just a regular dead guy, not an Angel-level dead guy. It's cool that you thought that though." Jake grinned. "Is it because I look commanding?"   
  
"No," Holt said.   
  
"You did hear me say that Janet disappeared, though, right?"    
  
Holt pulled up a touchscreen. "This says that all the neighborhood Janets are accounted for."   
  
Jake screwed up his face. Then a lightbulb went off. "But only someone at your level would know that!"   
  
"Excuse me?"   
  
"This whole conversation seems real fishy," Jake said. "If there were something unusual going on in your neighborhood, wouldn't you want to know about it, Mister On-Top-Of-Every-Detail? The other explanation is, you  _ know _ there's something fishy, and you're trying to throw me and Kelly Barkson off the scent!"   
  
"I assure you, the puppy is not of my concern."    
  
"Again! More tangents, Raymond!" Jake pointed in a way he thought looked serious. "I think this Janet-disappearance was an inside job."    
  
Holt raised both eyebrows. "You do?" Holt considered this, hand on his chin. "What's my motivation?"   
  
"Still working on that one."   
  
"What if I were to tell you that was in no way the case," Holt said.    
  
"Then either you've found a way to lie, which is impressive and I'm pretty sure impossible, or stretch the truth so that you're technically not lying, or -- tell you what. If you don't think there's anything crazy going on, stay right here and ring for the Safety Squad so I can tell them what I saw. If it was nothing, then it's no big deal, and they can just give me a hand because I am clearly stressing out."    
  
"All right," Holt said. "I will ring for Safety."    
  
Holt reached into his pocket, which could have contained a small silver bell. But it did not, and Holt raised his palm instead. It omitted a quick burst of white light, which erased the last three minutes of Jake's memory. 

  
  


Jake blinked from the flash, disoriented. He looked at the puppy he was still carrying, and then at Holt. "Hey, Kelly Barkson, I found you!" Jake said, gleeful. Then he looked at Holt and blinked. "When did you get here?"   
  
"A moment ago. I think you mean to return to the Puppy Bowl Staging Area, yes? We're all very excited to see what you and Terry come up with. I was so curious myself that I stopped in early."   
  
"Aww, boss, you shouldn't've."    
  
"I will ignore your use of a double contraction and instead point out that I am not your boss."   
  
Jake shrugged. "You're like the mayor though."   
  
"I am not a government-elected official. But I do care quite a bit about the goings-on in this neighborhood. Go on ahead, I will join you shortly."    
  
Holt watched Jake walk back in the direction of the park. When Jake and the puppy were out of earshot, Holt murmured into a microphone in his lapel. "I presume Pepper is now at the drop point with your target," Holt said. "But it was a very close call, dear." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! An epilogue of sorts! 
> 
> In which all dogs *do* go to the Good Place, but some of them are just visiting.
> 
> (because I forgot about 'who's guarding Hades?' and it seemed like a grave oversight)
> 
> some dog pun names taken from [this blog post](http://www.wantmorepuppies.com/2013/11/04/250-punny-dog-names-and-counting/)
> 
> I take ideas & suggestions at nerd-husbands.tumblr.com or secretsofluftnarp at gmail. Thanks for reading!


End file.
